That Which Survives
by AAmuse
Summary: Beauty isn’t always that which survives. In fact, it rarely is. No allusions with the episode. Dark AU tale.


**Disclaimer**: She's mine, they aren't.

**Author's note**: This is an **AU** story. A dark story. No happy ending, not by far. If you're in the mood for sunshine and kittens, please read elsewhere.

**Warning****s**: Major character death—you name your character. Adult language. Adult situations implied. Violence implied.

**Codes****/Rating**: K/S, Sc, M, U. **Strong** **R**

**Beta/Editor**: SLWatson

**Summary**: Beauty isn't always that which survives. In fact, it rarely is. No allusions with the episode. Dark AU tale.

* * *

**That Which Survives**

By

Anna Amuse

* * *

War has a remarkable capability of changing people's lives with such devastating completion, it's genuinely outstanding. James Kirk reflected on this as he watched the stars through the icy comet's tail that his ship was currently hiding in. It really was something. How many years had it been? Ten? Twelve? He seemed to have lost count somewhere after year Seven, which was only remarkable because Spock had died then. After that, time either lost its meaning or it was simply that there was no one left around him who gave a damn about it. He surely wasn't one of those.

It was funny, really. At first he remembered vividly every man he had lost. Just as it had been when he was commanding a starship—it seemed now like it had happened in someone else's life. He kept remembering their names and faces and he even made time to contact their families. When did that change? Probably when the death toll blasted the roof on its way straight to hell which swapped places with heaven. He didn't have enough sorrow to spare anymore. He stopped seeing people in those under his command. He couldn't afford it. They were soldiers, organic components of weapons and propulsion and all the other systems. He ceased carrying about their being, only about their numbers. There was no one left to remind him of his humanity, and even if there was, he couldn't allow this to happen. To feel under those circumstances was the shortest way to damnation.

Not that he hadn't reached that point a long time ago.

He couldn't even feel for his own former crew anymore. When they brought Uhura's mutilated body back to him, he barely stopped in time before asking who she was. He remembered her name, their history together, but he didn't feel anything save for a short regret of losing a qualified combat unit. Same went with Chekov. He didn't hesitate one bit before sending McCoy on a suicide mission. He knew he would never see the Doctor again, yet he didn't even think about saying good-bye. The thought simply did not occur. McCoy didn't say anything to him either. He went on the mission willingly—he was never good at what he had to do now and he was only too eager to find his big way out of it. Kirk sent him off without a single personal word, only with orders. He knew McCoy's death wasn't an easy one, but although the thought registered it didn't invoke any stray sensation in him.

When Spock was gone it was somehow different. He knew of course just how invaluable an aide the Vulcan was to him, but it only hit him full scale after his death. The whole amount of things that Spock was regularly taking off his plate threatened to crush him. He managed to come through it somehow, though. It seemed like he always did.

Spock. Spock was the last person to whom he continued to apply the word 'friend,' although it was by then pretty much stripped of its original meaning. Those last years of the Vulcan's life, Kirk used it purposefully to torment him, rather than reassure, and it pained and pleasured him greatly at the same time to see Spock wince as he did it. Whatever they had become defied one-word definition, but even if it didn't, 'friend' was probably the last word that would fit.

And yet Kirk felt for him. When they came to tell him that the Vulcan stayed behind to set off the explosion manually for there was no other way, he felt something he didn't know was still alive after all these years dying painfully inside him. He even spent some time—half an hour perhaps—dwelling on the times when they had first met and their friendship had begun to spring into bloom. He never knew the true meaning of friendship before Spock and he most certainly would never know it after.

"It's time, Captain," Scotty said, turning his thoughts back to reality.

Kirk looked at him and smiled suddenly. A smile didn't exactly suit him anymore, so he tried not to do it unless he wanted to impress an enemy. Not that he had any reason to smile in years. Yet now it seemed somewhat fitting.

"How long has it been since I was your captain, Mr. Scott?" he asked, surprising the elder man with the address no less than with the question.

"I'm not sure," Scott shook his head, trying to remember. "Too long, I guess."

"Do you ever remember the _Enterprise_, Scotty?"

The engineer sighed heavily. "Aye. I try not to."

"We have about an hour, don't we?" Kirk asked him, his eyes glinting mildly with a poor shadow of their natural inborn light.

"That we do, but..." Scotty said, looking perplexed.

"Then let's try to remember something, Scotty. For now it seems to me like none of it ever happened."

Scott looked at him, as if trying to decide whether that, too, had been a quirk of the deeply sick mind. It wouldn't surprise him. Nothing Kirk did could surprise him anymore, nothing had for a long time. Scott shook his head and shrugged, letting go. It didn't matter. An hour wasn't that much a time anyway.

"It did happen, Captain," he said slowly. "It did."

* * *

"Your mind does not seem to be on the game, Captain."

Kirk sighed, pushing away from the table, sinking into the chair.

"I guess not. I'm sorry."

Spock leaned back slightly as well, steepling his fingers gracefully and watching his chess partner carefully. Waiting.

"I sent Peter home today," Jim said quietly. "He was pretty upset."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed. "He must realize there is no way for you to keep him aboard. A starship is no place for children."

"He knows. It's not what he was upset about. He just... well, he misses Sam and Aurelan so much, who wouldn't? And now I have to leave him, too. He feels like the whole world is abandoning him."

Spock was silent for a long moment, considering the Captain's words. Finally, he spoke.

"You are aware, I believe, that I have spent a considerable amount of time with the boy."

Kirk's eyes met his, their expression softening.

"Yes, I know that, Spock. I couldn't thank you enough for doing this."

As usual, Spock refused to acknowledge his gratitude.

"I mentioned that because I have also seen him this very morning. He told me he was leaving today, but I detected no excessive signs of sorrow. He seemed—fine."

"Well, you know how it happens," Kirk's gaze wandered across the room. "The moment comes, and you can't hold it together. Especially when you're eight."

"He actually said he was looking forward to seeing his cousins and grandmother."

Kirk nodded, staring at the ceiling. "He does like it at Mom's. Fortunately, she can take care of him."

Again, Spock watched him silently for a while before speaking.

"Jim, is it really Peter who thinks the whole world is abandoning him? Or is it you?"

Kirk stared at him.

"My, aren't you taking a leaf out of McCoy's book?" he asked, stung. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Spock made an almost imperceptible movement of his shoulder, which apparently was his substitute for a shrug.

"You suffered several losses recently. Your perspective might be ... shifting."

"Spock," Jim sighed. "Don't quit your day job. You'd make a poor psychologist. But you do make a good first officer."

"Indeed. And as a good first officer and a poor psychologist, I am supposed to let you change the subject now?"

"Exactly. So will you?"

"I don't think so, Jim. Doctor McCoy's persistence may seem excessive sometimes, but right now I believe you do need help."

"What do you suggest?" Fatigue had given his tone a taunting edge. "I'm not exactly eight years old, Spock. I don't think stroking my hair and giving me a lollipop will work, do you? What kind of assurances can you give me that the world is not slowly fading out on me? No offense, but you don't even know what it feels like."

"The world is not fading out, it is your viewing of it that is getting dimmed. And as someone who had recently gone through this experience literally, I would dare to presume that I do know what you are feeling."

Kirk blanched, looking at him sharply, guilt washing over him anew.

"God, I'm sorry, Spock. I'm acting like a selfish bastard, I didn't even ask..."

A rare ghost of smile touched Spock's lips.

"I did not remind you of this to make you feel even more upset, Jim. Merely to make you see that you don't have to shut me out. I may not possess a full scale of emotions as you do, but I do realize it is not an experience to be dealt with alone."

"As we left you," Kirk whispered. "Spock, please tell me you're fine now."

"Captain, it is most illogical—"

"Just say it. Please."

Spock sighed.

"Jim. I am fine as you know very well."

Kirk was staring at him still. "I wonder if I should believe you."

Spock rolled his eyes. The gesture was so blatantly human that Kirk had to laugh at that, surprised and delighted.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"I apologize, but your illogic has an almost uncanny way to jam my defenses," Spock grunted. "I have always been regrettably vulnerable to you." He didn't look upset, though.

Kirk's eyes glinted. That was quite an admission. And from someone who had just been nearly incapacitated permanently by Kirk's shortsightedness. He shook his head sadly.

"Spock. Spock, you trust me too much. You probably shouldn't."

"I am well aware of that," Spock said, still unperturbed. "However, this isn't something I can help, Jim."

"You're tempting me now."

"I know."

"This is one strange conversation," Kirk shook his head forcibly, as if trying to shake off the weirdness of the moment. "It's late, Spock, you'd better leave."

"You don't trust me?"

"I don't trust myself."

"I do."

"Oh God. Maybe Bones should fix you an antidote for that. Please leave. Please?"

"You don't really want me to."

"You're impossible. Spock, I'm not joking. I'm not being noble. Leave while you still can. Power corrupts, and I'm no exception. You don't want to see where it will take me. Trust me, you don't want to see."

"I might not want to see it, Jim. But I think we both know by now that I will."

Kirk closed his eyes. Then opened them, looked at the chessboard, located his king and knocked it over with a snap.

* * *

He wondered if he should have known then. Though that was hardly the correct term, he did know. Whether he should have done something to help it—that was the question. Spock would have been the first one to remind him that what was done, was done. Spock knew what he was getting himself into. He knew the risks. Somehow, reminding himself of this did not help very much.

Kirk shook his head softly. There was no point in pretending he was still bothered by it. He didn't have enough conscience left to feel remorse, not by far. A lot of things had to go so that they could survive. Conscience was merely one of them. And the sacrifice—there was no reason to deny it—went easy.

This wasn't something he intended to share when he started this conversation, and he wondered what had brought the memory up to light. Spock hadn't been on his mind for years now, long before the Vulcan's actual death. He had long ceased to care. Or so he thought.

"Do you remember Governor Korag's ball on Rigel, Scotty?"

The engineer glanced at him. "Aye. Parts of it anyway."

Kirk grinned with the side of his mouth that was still mobile.

"It was quite a night, wasn't it?"

"Aye, Captain. It was."

* * *

"He's never gonna fall for it."

"Oh, don't be such a killjoy, Jim."

"I'm not, Bones. But neither am I naïve. She's being too obvious."

"She's just perfect. Young, beautiful, enthusiastic."

"Have you ever seen anything you've just mentioned having any effect on him?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"I meant, other than at the times when he was either drugged or imbalanced."

"And it's still an affirmative. You'll see. Maybe I should offer you a bet."

"And maybe I should take it. Look."

They watched as Spock walked into the hall with Bela. He was his usual dispassionate self, as calm and serene as a follower of Buddha. The reporter he was escorting tried very hard to stay as serious as he was, failing spectacularly as her own lively nature took over. She was talking to him in her usual rapid fashion, and he nodded every now and then, saying a word or two from time to time.

"From the looks of it, I'd say he's interviewing her, not the other way around," Kirk noted with good humor.

"The way she looks at him," McCoy muttered. "Most men on this ship would kill for a single glance like that and he's simply ignoring them all together. That man's got ice water instead of blood."

"I can offer you a counter bet for that one of yours, Bones. I'm fairly certain he doesn't even know she has a crush on him."

"That's too much even for Spock, Jim, you've gotta give him some credit. He can't be blind completely."

"Well, don't say I didn't offer."

Spock and the girl stopped at a table just within earshot, apparently taking no notice of them.

"That is not a logical approach," Spock was saying.

"Journalism isn't a very logical profession, Mr. Spock," she smiled radiantly at him. "Please?"

He didn't answer immediately, and she pouted, most charmingly though.

"Didn't anyone tell you that it's not polite to make a lady wait for you?" she asked playfully.

"As a matter of fact, they did," Spock said, dead serious. "My mother."

"A wise woman."

"That remains to be seen—in this particular regard."

"Does this mean—"

"I believe this is the waltz you have been waiting for?" he said, referring to the melody.

"It is," she nodded eagerly.

"Then, if I may?"

Gallantly, he offered her a hand, which she accepted instantly, and led her towards the centre of the room, where some couples were dancing already. People were staring at them, and Kirk couldn't blame them. Spock was the last person anyone expected to see on the dance floor.

"I think we should have made different bets, Jim," McCoy drawled, bemused. "I didn't even know he _could_ dance."

"His father is an ambassador," Kirk reminded him. "He must have received full diplomatic training."

"That's a sight to see, isn't it?" Uhura said, sitting down beside them.

"As Spock would say, indeed," Kirk smiled at her. "I take it the upgrades are done?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Thank God. I thought it would never happen, not with those Starfleet 'specialists' crowding at my station. You should hear Scotty, though. He's got the worst of it."

"I saw him some time ago drowning his stress in something orange," McCoy informed her dryly. "So I'd say he's done with them, too."

"I wonder if we could make Scotty dance," Kirk mused aloud, watching the swaying couples. "Seeing Spock there makes me think that impossible is nothing."

Uhura followed his gaze and frowned.

"Whatever did she do to make him go there?"

"Lieutenant, are you jealous?" Kirk asked her with a sly grin.

"Of course not!" But she blushed brightly under his gaze. "It's just so, uh, unlike Mr. Spock."

"I wouldn't say that. As everything he does, he's the next best thing to perfection on the dance floor. I don't think I'd even consider risking comparison."

He said it with mock seriousness, even frowning for emphasis, but Uhura knew well when she was baited. She stood up in front of him.

"I'd really like to persuade you to reconsider," she said, smiling. "I'm sure you'd be a sensation."

He leaned back on the couch, feeling well within his ground, and looked up at her with a slow seductive smile.

"Lieutenant, are you flirting with your commanding officer?"

"Why, yes, sir. Not a court-martial offense, is it?" she frowned, would-be concerned.

"No," McCoy cut in, with a meaningful look at Jim. "However it is if he flirts back at you."

"Ouch," Kirk said. "That hurt, Bones."

"Good."

"Well, if I'm going to be court-martialed anyway, I might as well deserve it," he glanced back at Uhura. "Are you certain you're not afraid of the competition?" He nodded towards the dance floor. "They are pretty good."

Her eyes glinted at the challenge.

"We'll bust them up, sir."

"We'd better," Kirk grinned, rising up and taking her hand. Winking at her, he whispered. "We can even swap partners somewhere along the way."

Her gaze drifted to the other couple and she smiled wickedly. "Oh, Captain, I'm counting on that."

The crowd cheered appreciatively as they joined the dancers.

"It's a shame I didn't bring my camera," McCoy commented to Scotty, who approached him at that moment, as they watched Jim elegantly make the exchange. Spock, being too much a gentleman to refuse it, was dancing with Uhura now. "That's a day to remember."

"Aye," Scotty nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "A camera would be a gift. But I'll never forget the sight anyway."

"Neither will I," McCoy nodded contentedly into the gentle Rigelian night.

* * *

"Did he ever say anything afterwards?"

"Not too much. He asked me if I would prefer to handle public relations myself from then on."

"What did ye say?"

"I told him he was doing great."

"Do ye know whatever happened to Bela?"

"She was on Earth when the invasion started. So I guess she was killed along with the others."

"It's a shame," Scotty sighed. "She was a good lass."

Kirk glanced at him sidelong.

"I don't remember you saying that when she cornered you in Engineering."

"Aye, well..."

"She did write a nice article about you."

Silence.

"Mr. Scott, are you blushing?"

"Captain!" an outburst of pure indignation. It felt good to give it a try.

Kirk smiled again. It was a strange feeling. Unfamiliar. Stranger even to realize that none of those who were with them in that ballroom on Rigel IX were alive anymore. It was strange to remember that those dashing officers, sliding in graceful circles on the parquet, and the wounded, dirty, tired creatures who spoke in rough language and only when necessary, who gritted their teeth and executed desperate, impossible orders, waist-deep in blood and sullage, used to be the same people. When Kirk had last seen Uhura alive, she was walking with a hard limp that could never be cured, not on the level their medicine had sunk to, and her face was distorted forever by the ricochet of a plasma charge. They had both been hit that day, the former dance partners, she on the right side and he—on the left. And then he gave another order, and she was gone.

And Bones. He could barely remember Bones McCoy the way he had been in that impossible past lifetime. To his inner eye, McCoy came first as a shadow of the man he used to be, the cynical, unfeeling ghost he became after the news of the disintegration of Centauri Prime had hit them. Kirk remembered Spock warning him that the Doctor was becoming unstable, but the Captain had way more pressing concerns on his mind.

Federation worlds were swept away or taken, one by one. Starfleet vanished as an organization. A few ships were still scattered throughout two quadrants, hunted, crippled. Desperate. Out of range, without the network of starbases supporting them, without so much as a means to detect each other or communicate, they were all what was left of the proud institution. Each of them, wherever they happened to be, had to protect the remaining colonies, or the flood of refugees trying to escape. In the haze of those blurry first months, there were matters far more important than one man's mental state.

"The Doctor had taken a liking to her, too," Scotty said, reaching to check the sensors, as far as his broken back would allow him. "We rarely saw eye to eye, but he was a good man."

Kirk stared at the back of his neck pensively. In the world that they were now living in, being a good man was hardly a virtue. With an impatient shrug, Kirk dismissed the thought. If for anyone else it might not have been a virtue, for McCoy, it definitely was a vice.

* * *

"Captain, can I have a word with you?"

Kirk stopped to let his CMO catch up with him.

"I only got a minute," he warned, resuming his walk. "What's on your mind?"

"You might wanna make time," McCoy grunted, frowning. "I have some concerns regarding one of your senior officers."

The Captain groaned and gestured him into an empty briefing room.

"What has he done this time?" Kirk asked impatiently.

McCoy chuckled. "I wasn't talking about Spock, actually, though it's kinda telling that you'd spring to this conclusion at once. You do know you have other senior officers, right?"

"You rarely complain about anyone else," Kirk shrugged, covering his slip. "So, who's been unfortunate enough to get on your radar?"

The CMO sobered. "Scotty."

"What about him?" Kirk frowned immediately. "Any complications from the surgery?"

"No," McCoy shook his head, but he didn't look convinced. "The damage is healing, at least according to my tests. But he's acting strangely."

"Strangely how?"

"Well, he nearly bit Christine's head off when she approached him with a scanner. He was still sleeping, and she came to take some readings."

"And?" Kirk prompted impatiently.

"And," McCoy reluctantly relented, "he reacted as if she was attacking him. Nearly broke her wrist, before he realized who she was and let go. Scared the hell out of her."

The Captain frowned, studying McCoy's face.

"He was probably still drugged."

"No," McCoy shook his head. "I checked, the anesthetic was out of his system."

"Well, maybe he doesn't react well to abrupt awakening," Kirk suggested, a bit curtly. "Especially in Sick Bay. None of us fancies spending time in your lair, you know."

"I've noticed," McCoy said dryly. "But I've never seen Scotty getting so violent towards a woman before. It doesn't end up there, too. I've been monitoring him covertly for a couple of days. I didn't like the way he snapped at Uhura today at all. She only asked how he was doing, and he barked at her to 'leave him the bloody hell alone'."

Kirk cringed. "You gotta admit, she does abuse her motherly instinct sometimes."

"That's hardly an excuse, Jim," McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Everyone gets snappish under stress, I won't deny that, but this time it was completely uncalled for. And Scotty's usually absurdly gallant to the fair side of our crew. Unlike a certain starship captain who doesn't care much who he yells at, I might add."

"Get to the point, Doctor."

"Well, my point is, I think Scotty's developing a severe case of resentment towards women."

Kirk blinked. Stared. Cleared his throat.

"Come again?"

"Oh, don't be obtuse, Jim," McCoy bristled. "The accident was caused by a woman, right? She's a fine engineer, mind you. Not as brilliant as he is perhaps, but still—"

"She nearly caused a core breach," Kirk cut in, his tone distinctly forbidding.

"Everyone makes mistakes," McCoy stood his ground. "If we banned everyone who's ever made one from the service, neither you nor I nor Scotty himself would still be here. You explain to your subordinates what they did wrong. You don't tell them that the next time they enter Engineering would be over your dead body."

"Look—"

"I'm not done, Captain. He's transferring her—fine. If he'd stop at that, I wouldn't say a word. But he doesn't. Think of it, Jim. Scotty always liked Uhura. And he was always friendly with Christine. Well, apart from that one time when he tried to stop her from beating the shit out of Spock, which obviously was an error in judgment in itself—"

"Bones!"

"My point is—look how he treats them now, with so little provocation. And I've talked to his staff, too. They say he's been downright rude the last several days, particularly towards Martinez and Ando."

"They were on duty when the accident happened. I might have been a bit displeased, too."

"Maybe," McCoy acquiesced grudgingly. "But do you really want to let it go? He's easily the best engineer in the fleet, Jim, you said so yourself. What if I'm right? It might get pretty nasty in that case. You really want to take that chance?"

Kirk sighed tiredly. "What are you suggesting?"

"We're taking some R&R on Argellius in two days. Scotty refused to take shoreleave when I suggested it. I want you to order him down. What's more, I want you to accompany him."

"Why?" Kirk looked mildly alarmed. It wasn't completely without precedent, of course. The three of them had spent some time together in the past, but somehow forcing Scotty into it right now didn't feel right.

"Because I need to test my hypothesis, and what better place to do it than on a planet full of women who are beautiful and willing?"

"What do you need me for? You two will have no problem finding company."

"I don't want to leave anything to chance. You're a damn women magnet, Jim, you'll be our guarantee."

Kirk winced.

"You were going to beam down anyway, weren't you?" McCoy persisted.

The Captain shrugged in a non-committal way.

"I haven't decided. There are still things to take care of on board. If time permits, maybe."

McCoy gave him a penetrating glance, then whistled softly.

"My-my, I had no idea it has gone this far. You know you can't coerce him into coming, so you're actually considering staying on board when orbiting a pleasure planet? Would wonders never cease."

Kirk's head snapped up abruptly. "I appreciate you holding a degree in space psychology, Doctor, but kindly refrain from using it on me when the situation doesn't warrant it," he said in cold fury. "How I decide to spend my shoreleave is none of your business, unless medically indicated."

McCoy looked slightly taken aback. "I was just joking, Captain."

Kirk continued to glare at him until he had effectively stared McCoy down.

"Look, Jim, I'm sorry," McCoy said warily, daring a glance at him. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It was just a stupid joke."

Kirk shook his head, as if only now snapping out of a reverie. He looked away, releasing McCoy from the hold of his gaze.

"Forget it, Bones." He made several steps across the room, apparently thinking. "I'm not convinced your theory regarding Scotty has merit. But I suppose no harm could come from a shoreleave on Argellius. I'll beam down with you if you think you need me."

"I do," McCoy nodded readily, taking advantage of his friend's deliberate case of short memory. "Because if I'm not wrong, Jim, I'll need someone to help me deal with the consequences. Scotty's hardly a kitten when he's enraged."

"Fine," Kirk sighed at last. "I'll talk to him and I'll back up your medical order."

McCoy exhaled with obvious relief. "Thank you, Captain. I'm sure you won't regret it."

Kirk gave him a reserved, but sincere grin. "I'd better not."

"Don't worry," McCoy chuckled softly. "I know just the place."

* * *

To the best of Kirk's knowledge, Argellius was still intact back there, somewhere. It was only the population that had been eradicated. Apparently, the new masters didn't care much for this kind of pleasure. Kirk glanced over at Scotty. Not some ten years had passed since the ordeal that the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper had put him through, and yet how unfathomable a change had passed over him. Back then, even being cornered and defenseless, he still projected an aura of power, of great internal strength boiling up inside, seeking release. He was taller back then, too. He could stand and walk, to begin with. His hair was jet black, not white. He used to smile. He used to like the damned women, despite McCoy's far-fetched theories. He used to live.

"Are you sure the blast will be sufficient to knock out the power generator?" Kirk asked again.

"Aye," Scott nodded curtly. "If we detonate it close enough."

"If we're not detected," Kirk rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"The chances of that are less than two hundred fifty-seven to one," a cold voice stated behind them.

Kirk turned around to see Miira entering the bridge. The tiny, unimpressive Vulcan woman looked just as weary as the humans.

"Is everything ready?" Kirk asked her with a shadow of a sharp edge his voice used to have.

She glanced at him coldly, her unexpressive eyes conveying her resentment. "Yes."

Kirk suppressed a sigh.

"Well then, don't loom over there. Have a seat. We've got front row tickets to the end of the world."

She sat down quietly, staring at the viewscreen. Kirk was watching her, knowing that she knew it, knowing that she didn't care. He had never quite looked at her before, not the way he was looking at her now. He looked at her when he needed the expertise of a tactical officer. He looked at her when he needed an extra pair of hands. Over the last several years, he had even looked at her once or twice when he needed someone to warm his bed. Literally more often than figuratively, that last one. They had to conserve power, and the ship was chilly at best most of the time. If her constant cough was any indication, she needed to share body heat much more than he or Scotty did, so in addition, he oftentimes looked at her as at a burden.

The way he had never looked at her, the way he had never even considered, was the way he was supposed to look at his best friend's wife. It never occurred to him to acknowledge her in this status, not even when Spock was alive. Now that he finally had a chance, he studied her in this capacity with some rather detached and adverse curiosity.

She was a rescue, one of the few they managed to make in their third year of hell. She was in command of a civilian transport carrying a group of children when the attack began. She had lost most of her crew and passengers, and it was only her remarkable talent in confusing the enemy that allowed the rest of them to survive in space for three years. They were planning to join the nearest refugee convoy, and as the _Enterprise_ was headed that way, they were welcomed to stay for as long as the routes coincided.

The moment Kirk saw her, he made an instant decision. They had lost more than half of their people by then, they had been desperately short-handed. He needed a good tactical officer, but Miira refused his offer. She saw no logic in the continuation of the fight. But Kirk was long used to dealing with Vulcan stubbornness, and he knew that the simplest way to do so was to steer around it. He came to Spock and bluntly ordered him to bond with her.

The solution was brilliant, as it solved two problems at once. They gained a good tactical officer. And Spock would not have to be distracted or incapacitated by a relapse of his crazy Vulcan biology. It was logical to boot.

Spock looked at him strangely when he said it. He didn't reply at once, but he didn't have to, his gaze was pretty eloquent. Too eloquent for Kirk's taste. The Captain remained unmoved and deliberately oblivious to the truth staring back at him. He was impatient to close the deal.

'Listen, Spock, I don't have time for another discussion of what you want. I need you to do it. That's an order.'

He was referring to the argument they had had only weeks before Miira's rescue. Spock was trying to convince him to stop fighting.

'This war is over, Jim. It was over three years ago. We lost. It's time to accept our situation and move on.'

'Are you suggesting we surrender?'

'I'm suggesting we stop sacrificing people for a lost cause.'

'I never thought I'd hear you talk like a coward.'

'Jim, what are we fighting for? Earth is destroyed. So is Vulcan. So are Andor, Betazed, Tellar, Rigel, Centaur, Deneb. These are only the worlds we know of. There are no prisoners to liberate. No planets to take back. We haven't encountered another Starfleet vessel in two point four years now. We keep losing people in attacks that cripple us and go unnoticed by the enemy. We are on direct route to self-elimination. What could be accomplished if we continue?'

'And what could be accomplished if we don't? You're asking me to give up.'

'No, Jim, I'm asking you to consider alternatives. We must set a course for some distant region of the galaxy while we still have the power to do so. We must look for a world to colonize. We must make a new start.'

'What—settle down? Lose the stars forever?'

'We will be preserving humanity. And humans, as far as I know them, will not let anything stand in the way between them and what they desire. We will reach the stars again.'

'When? We have scarcely more than two hundred people aboard. Given that no natural disaster destroys this colony of yours, how long do you think will it take us to populate a planet? To start building starships again? A thousand years maybe?'

'Maybe. Is it preferable for you if humanity is wiped out of existence without a trace?'

'Better go kicking and screaming than survive on our knees.'

'You're not thinking clearly.'

'Shit, Spock. None of us is thinking clearly! Not for three years, we haven't!'

'Jim, listen to me.' Iron-firm hands grasped his shoulders. 'The war is lost. The people, our people, have lost everything—their homes, their friends, their families. They will follow you anywhere because you are all that is left of their world. They trust you to save them.'

'What if I can't?' he shrugged the hands off impatiently. 'Hell, Spock, the _civilization_ is gone—how can I save _that_?'

'You can save it by bringing your crew to safety. By giving them the chance to rebuild it.'

'They are not builders! They are soldiers!'

'They are people, Jim! They deserve a chance to live.'

'And what kind of life will it be for them? From transporters and replicators to stone axes and mammoth hunting?'

'Life is life, Jim. Even with drastic concessions, it's preferable to death.'

'For Vulcans, maybe. But not for humans. If you wish to leave—go, Spock. We can spare you an escape pod.'

A pause.

'You need me.'

'Not if all you do is argue with me, I don't.'

'You used to value my opinion.'

He laughed at this, a mean sound. 'I used to take a hot shower every night, too. There are some luxuries I can no longer afford. Sparing your Vulcan sensitivities is one of them.'

He laid it down transparently then. He demanded unconditional obedience and support. If Spock couldn't give either, he didn't need Spock. He wasn't worried, though. He knew that whatever he did, Spock would never leave him. He could name any price and the Vulcan would pay it. Any price at all. Feeling this power was incredible. Head-spinning. He toyed with it a little. He had never owned anyone so completely before. Not even the old Spock, the one that still had a choice.

He knew that his order to bond with Miira would be that last straw that would break Spock forever. And yet he had no doubts Spock would obey. Spock was past offering resistance, past making appeals. He knew neither would have any effect. The look that he had given his Captain was the only way and the only time he had expressed his feelings. Kirk ignored it. He was in a position to do so, and he chose this response deliberately. All he was interested in was immediate compliance, which he knew Spock would give.

He did. Without a single objection. Without a single word, in fact. Miira understood the reasons only too well, but she accepted the offer—also without a single objection. She might not have been from a noble family, but she understood the core, most basic duty of a Vulcan woman better than anyone. She had never backed off from her obligations in her life, and she wasn't going to start then.

The problem solved, the Captain as good as forgot about it. He came to rely on her skills and used them without reservation. He never gave it a second thought when sending her on assignments with slim chances of success or even survival. He never once paused giving an order that placed her in direct danger, not even when he could use someone else, not even when Spock was standing at his side when he did it. He was annoyed more than anything, when they said their succinct goodbyes on those occasions. It was a waste of time, in his view, nothing more. He was annoyed that Spock would bother at all with this husband-and-wife routine when they all knew she couldn't possibly mean anything to him. He was annoyed when Spock would ask about her when they were separated and the communications window would allow it. He was annoyed every time Spock gave the appearance of taking her seriously.

But if his prevalent emotion toward her was annoyance, Miira hated Kirk. That was something Spock could never do, and sometimes Kirk got a distinct impression that she hated him for both of them. It amused him. He sometimes indulged his urges to taunt her with it. On those rare occasions that the Vulcans could have had some time together, he would instead keep Spock with him all night, sometimes under the pretense of some unnecessary assignment, sometimes with no even ostensibly respectable reason at all. _Mine, not yours. Never yours. Sweet little game._ He knew Spock would never say anything, but the looks Miira gave him were priceless.

Those unsophisticated pleasures, however, were rare. Most of the time they were too busy planning attacks and defending themselves. Losing people. Then Spock had died, and those entertaining games became history. With him, anyway, though apparently not with Miira.

Ironically enough, Spock had died on the _Enterprise_, when he realized that the self-destruct wouldn't work and the only way to save them from pursuit was to detonate the charges set around the warp reactor manually. By that time, there were only three people left on board, namely Spock, Scott and Miira. The Engineer was adamant to go with the ship, but was negligent enough to turn his back on Miira, which resulted in her nerve pinching him and dragging him with her off the ship.

No one knew what had transpired in the Engine Room between husband and wife, but whatever it was, it didn't take long. Kirk remembered watching Scotty regain his senses on the ground, locating Miira and nearly strangling her.

'Why?' he yelled. 'Why did ye do it, stupid girl? I was ready to go! She was my ship! And he was yer husband, dammit!'

She looked at him calmly, as if he wasn't shaking her like a rag doll.

'You can take more of this. He couldn't.'

And then she turned and looked directly into Kirk's eyes, and he knew she wasn't talking about the war, she was talking about him. She blamed him for Spock's choice. And for a moment, for a short instant there and then, he knew she was right and as a glimpse of the old Jim Kirk emerged for a fleeting second, he felt grateful to her for setting Spock free. He knew he would never have been able to do that.

They had to fight their way through the planet. Only five of them made it back into space, when they had appropriated this runabout. For the last two years, they had been three. Kirk had come to know things about Scotty he never wished to know, not in this life, not in any. Miira was just there, doing whatever was required. Even war couldn't turn some people into something remotely interesting.

.

"The world will not end just because the three of us will cease to exist," Miira broke in her impassive cold voice.

Kirk shared an exasperated glance with Scotty, who shook his head. The returned Vulcan trait of stating the obvious was making him melancholic.

"You know what," Kirk said suddenly, as if struck with an idea. "We still have one working escape pod on this thing. One of you could take it."

Scott didn't even turn to look at him, instead adjusting the course. It was time they left their 'cover' and headed for the kill. Miira didn't deign to answer. Kirk shrugged.

"Was just an idea."

"I find it unlike you to be willing to preserve a life," Miira said, oozing disdain.

"I'm going to die in about ten minutes," he turned to her with a challenging, flippant smirk. "I can afford to be generous."

She didn't answer. He turned away, losing his interest.

It was a mistake.

The last thing he saw was Scotty's surprised face. His former Engineer was saying something, but Kirk couldn't hear him. His world went black.

* * *

He came to in the semi-darkness, feeling instantly that something was wrong. He wasn't sitting anymore, as much as he was half-lying, feeling no weight in his limbs. He looked down to see a net of bands holding him in position. Several screens were right in front of him, but it took him a long time to make sense of what he was seeing. When he did, his heart froze.

The escape pod.

The blasted bitch had put _him_ into the escape pod!

Panicked, he checked the elapsed time and groaned loudly, the desperate cry of an animal sustaining a mortal wound. Five hours ago. The runabout had exploded, hopefully destroying the alien power generator in the process, five hours ago. Scotty and Miira had been dead for five hours. Everyone he had ever known was dead. He was alive. He was alone.

_No._

He screamed. He tugged helplessly at the restraints holding him. He screamed again and continued to scream until his throat quit on him.

The oxygen supply of the escape pod ran out in three days. That which had died then had not been human or even sentient, but it had been conscious and it had been suffering right until the very last moment.


End file.
